


Dust to Dust

by Callie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Election Night Part 2, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/pseuds/Callie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the car, she falls asleep against his shoulder, six blocks from his building. He wants to scoop her up and carry her upstairs without disturbing her, but the constant ache in his elbow and knees precludes any grand romantic gestures like that these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely reader of [There's No Handbook For The Rest of Your Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1012097/chapters/2009220) reminded me that I started this fic and posted a little of it on tumblr months ago and encouraged me to finish. So here it is!

Let me in the walls  
You've built around  
We can light a match  
And burn them down  
Let me hold your hand  
And dance 'round and 'round the flames  
In front of us  
Dust to dust

You're like a mirror, reflecting me  
Takes one to know one, so take it from me  
You've been lonely  
You've been lonely, too long  
We've been lonely  
We've been lonely, too long 

\-- _Dust to Dust_ , The Civil Wars

 

*****

It's three am before they make it out of ACN.

There was champagne and cigars and more champagne, and after all of that, Will, Mac, and Charlie had a celebratory drink in Charlie's office. Mac hasn't had more than three hours' sleep a night for the last two weeks, at least--and Will has his suspicions about the weeks prior to that--and by the time they finish their drink in Charlie's office, she's about to topple over.

"Take me home, Billy," she says softly, leaning against his shoulder, and Will feels something warm and fiercely protective settle in his chest. 

"Home?" he asks her in the elevator. She's still leaning against his shoulder, and in the harsh light of the fluorescents in the elevator, Will can see even more starkly the utter exhaustion in the shadows under her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks, now that the euphoria of a successful election night--and a surprise engagement--is winding down.

"Home with you." The elevator doors slide closed and they're alone, actually alone, for the first time in hours. MacKenzie leans against the back of the elevator and then, perhaps remembering she doesn't have to keep her distance from him anymore, slides her arms around him and rests against his chest instead. He desperately wants to kiss her again, just like they kissed in the corner of the studio ( _so awkward at first, like they didn't know each other at all, and then something clicked and they fit together again, just like the last six years hadn't happened, and it was the best kiss of his life_ ), but MacKenzie sighs and there's a heaviness to it that makes Will just wrap his arms around her and brush his lips against her hair.

He's never going to hurt her again.

In the car, she falls asleep against his shoulder, six blocks from his building. He wants to scoop her up and carry her upstairs without disturbing her, but the constant ache in his elbow and knees precludes any grand romantic gestures like that these days. Instead, he gently says, "C'mon, Mac," and gently nudges her shoulder until she rouses enough that he can help her upstairs.

MacKenzie falls on his bed still fully dressed, and a moment later she inhales in a sound that would be a snore if it were actually audible. Will's not sure he's ever seen her this exhausted, but after beating herself up for weeks over Genoa and capping it off with tonight's emotional roller-coaster, he supposes it's the inevitable result. He eases off her shoes and belt to make her a little more comfortable, then covers her with a blanket. She doesn't stir then, and she doesn't stir when he strips down to his boxers and t-shirt and slides in bed behind her, snaking his arm loosely around her waist. 

He won't sleep tonight, he thinks, because he's still on a fucking high from everything that's happened tonight, and he feels like even after the disjoined word vomit that he dumped on her in a desperate attempt to convince her to marry him, he has so much more to _say_ , but the next thing he knows, it's morning and his eyes are gritty and somehow he's managed to sleep a little.

At some point in the night, MacKenzie must have woken up long enough to swap her skirt and blouse for one of his t-shirts, but she's sleeping hard again and there's a little mark on her cheek, a little red imprint where she's tucked her hands under her cheek and her newly-acquired ring pressed against her skin without her realizing it. It will fade soon, but he rubs his fingers lightly against it. She sighs, but doesn't wake; the blanket has fallen away from her legs and the soft gray t-shirt has stretched across her breasts and bunched around her waist and there's a tantalizing patch of pale skin between the hem of her shirt and the thin waistband of her panties that, if she weren't so clearly exhausted, he would drag his tongue across until she wakes up.

But MacKenzie's still sleeping the kind of bone-deep sleep that comes after weeks of deprivation, and he's been nagging her to sleep for so long that no matter how badly he wants her right now, he can't bring himself to wake her. Not yet. Will reaches for his phone, sends a quick message to work that they'll be late and that Jim should run the 11 o'clock pitch meeting, then puts it away and curls up with her again. He's not nearly as sleep-deprived as Mac, but he won't say no to another hour of sleep.

That hour ends up being more like two, and he's only woken by the feel of MacKenzie stretching against him, her long, smooth legs sliding against his with a lazy casualness that is both familiar and erotic. "What time is it?" she says, her voice low and raspy from sleep and champagne. Then he feels her sit up and he opens an eye in time to see and hear her frantic, "Oh my God! We'll be late! Billy!"

"It's okay," he says, catching her wrist before she can launch herself out of bed and away from him. "I called in. Jim's handling the eleven o'clock. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he says. "He handled it perfectly adequately when I was in the hospital; I'm sure he'll do just fine for a few hours."

"But still, there will be stories from last night--"

"You fell asleep in the car," Will reminds her. "You needed the sleep, you were fucking exhausted."

"I _do_ feel better now that I've slept," MacKenzie allows. "How long was I out?" She eases herself back against the pillows and then, maybe remembering that she _can_ , curls close to him and rests her head on his chest.

"I didn't count. Not nearly long enough." Will toys with her hair, winding the ends around his fingers. The last ten hours or so are still a huge blur for him, and it's only the fact that MacKenzie's _in his bed_ with a ring on her finger that reassures him that he didn't hallucinate it all; still, he's not entirely sure it won't all evaporate as soon as they walk out the door. "You could go back to sleep."

"I could." MacKenzie says it innocently enough, and then she shifts in a way that presses her body against his at every possible point of contact and Will's suddenly a little dizzy with the force of how badly he wants her. "Or… I don't know?" She grins a little, a grin that's mischievous and shy at the same time and Will knows how that feels; they're on the other side of six long years of fighting and fucking other people and--well, shredding paper--and it's a relief, but it's also a pressure, because they've fucked it up once and they really, _really_ cannot fuck it up again.

"I don't know, either," he says softly, partly teasing and partly not. "Let's figure it out?"

She gives him that little smile again, and this time it goes all the way to her eyes, lighting them up and crinkling the corners in a way that used to happen a lot, before, but he hasn't seen but once or twice since she's been back in his life. 

Will loves that fucking smile. He loves it because when she turns it on him, it's like standing in sunshine. And he's been so busy forcing himself to be unhappy about everything that he's forgotten how good that smile makes him feel.

She gives him that little smile and then leans into him, shifting her leg over his to ease herself on top of him, all soft curves and long legs and soft, soft skin. "I fucking missed you," he tells her.

"I know," she says, and when she kisses him it's soft and tender and it makes Will ache inside a little--but it's the good kind of ache, the kind that comes from working out something that hurts until it eases away and all that's left is the warmth. Will slides his hands under her shirt and over her skin and she sighs, arching her back and pressing her hips into his and the friction is enough to make Will groan. He swears under his breath and she laughs softly.

"Oh, Billy," she says, and shifts off him to slide down his body. He huffs a little at the loss of warmth and friction but then she pushes his boxers down and wraps her warm hand around his dick and he gets over it almost immediately. 

"Did I mention I fucking missed you?"

"You did," she says fondly, "but I enjoy hearing it."

"I fucking missed you."

"I also enjoy hearing the part where I own you."

"You absolutely own--oh. Shit." Which is not quite what he meant to say, but she's slid her mouth over the head of his dick and fuck if it doesn't feel so good he can't really process words right now. She wraps her fingers around the base of his dick, slowly stroking along with the warm suction of her lips and tongue, and it's exquisite but it's not just that--it's the carefulness, the way she remembers just how far she can take him without making him come. It's the intimacy of it, and why it was never just fucking with MacKenzie and never could be. Not with her.

"God _damn_ it."

MacKenzie laughs softly, the little vibrations of her laughter in her tongue and palate a gentle hum of sensation against his dick. He missed this teasing, this playfulness with her that he could never really find with anyone else. Will slides his hand into her hair and she takes him deeper and he thinks he would have come right there if she hadn't tightened her fingers around him, giving him just the little bit he needs to hold back.

" _MacKenzie._ "

She draws her mouth off his dick slowly and for one heart stopping second he thinks he's going to tip right over the edge and come then, with her lips sliding off the head of his dick, and it takes everything he has not to give in. He cracks an eye open to look at her, smug and satisfied--"That's it," he growls, and pounces, pinning her on her back while she dissolves into helpless laughter that turns into a soft whine when he shoves her panties down and presses his mouth to her cunt.

That's better.

"Oh, Billy." It's soft and needy and Will loves it. He traces her cunt with fingers and tongue and she squirms and presses up against his face; he slides his arms beneath her, curling around her hips to hold her close to his mouth. He teases her a little more, avoiding her clit until she whines and squirms against him until she gets just the friction she needs and then he sucks at her clit, working it with his tongue. 

She's noisy when she comes and Will loves that too. He likes knowing exactly how good she feels and knowing he can take the credit for it. MacKenzie shrieks and yanks at the sheets and bucks against his face and then squirms away when she comes and it's too much; Will releases her and shifts up her body to press inside her and she whines again, wrapping her legs up and around him and clawing at his shoulders. 

He isn't gentle now, not really, and neither is she; she digs her nails into his back and kisses him hard when he thrusts deep inside her like she's trying to force her way into his heart again--but she doesn't need to, because he wants her there. Will doesn't want any distance between them anymore. He doesn't want the last six years between them anymore. He just wants her--all of her, her body and her mind and her heart, because he loves her so much he can't do without her anymore. He presses deep with every thrust and she tightens around him and when he comes it's finally, _finally_ and it feels so good because it's her and _them_ and the way it's supposed to be.

"You own me," he tells her, when he can breathe again. He nuzzles her neck and she slides her fingers through his hair and it's tender in every way they weren't a few minutes before. 

"I know, honey," she says. "It's mutual ownership."

"I never want to not be--okay, no, that didn't come out right last night and I'm not doing much better now."

"It was perfect," she says. "This is perfect. We'll be okay."

There's so much more he wants to say to her, things he didn't get to say during his rambling proposal or anything that came after it. But right this minute, maybe he doesn't need to. They've pushed down the wall between them and for now, maybe that's enough to let them start again.


End file.
